Date: Sun, 8 Apr 2012 12:39:01 +0100 (BST)
From: Hasan Khan
Subject: Dr. Martin's African Initiation
The sun beat down on the village of Kituri, baking all that its rays fell
upon. The young white doctor perspired from every pore, large stains
visible on his shirt under the armpits and down the middle of his chest.
His groin was warm and damp, briefs sticking to his arse and cock.
Dr. Peter Martin, at the end of his first month in this desolate spot
wondered if he had, after all, made the right decision about coming out to
Africa. By contrast, Nalondu, his dark black medical assistant worked
easily in the torrid heat, despite wearing a classic white uniform over his
shirt and pants. It was not yet mid-day, but between the two of them they
had seen at least thirty patients and the afternoon promised more to come.
The little dispensary was the only place for medical treatment in a radius
of twenty miles and even if the natives form the local villages could make
it to the nearest town, they were unlikely to have enough money to pay for
treatment.
After qualifying at medical school in England, Peter Martin had spent two
years in the university hospital and three as a very junior member of an
inner city medical practice. It was an old uncle, who had spent his younger
days in the colonies, who had sparked the interest which led to Peter
applying to do some voluntary service in Africa. Peter was eventually
posted to Kituri, north west of Nairobi, far away into the Rift Valley. For
his services he would have a small monthly stipend, a little house and a
house boy. Apart from that, he was on his own, professionally reliant for
the first few weeks on Nalondu, who guided him through the complications of
tropical infections, snake bites and performing minor surgery in a cement
block surgery.
Nalondu, a six foot tall, slim Kikuyu, with a noble face and wonderfully
slim hips lived in one of the nearby villages, having been to Nairobi to
train as a rural nurse. His family, initially suspicious of his
professional ambitions were eventually reconciled to the fact that medical
work for an NGO might in fact bring in more money than herding cattle
across the Valley floor. Peter Martin loved the boy from the first: his
calm cool manner, and the musky aroma which the boy gave off. Physical
closeness was often unavoidable in the small surgery, especially when both
were involved in dressing a wound or treating and injury. The brush of the
African's arms against Peter's still pale white skin was enough to raise
the temperature in the white man's groin.
After work, Nalondu always showered in the tiny bathroom built onto the
surgery, usually leaving the door half open as he did so. For the doctor,
who had nonetheless seen more naked men and boys in a day than he would
ever have done in England in a week, the opportunity was too much to be
missed. How he loved to see his medical assistant naked from the rear, the
slim hips and firm buttocks, the deep crevice between and the soapy white
water running over the shining black skin, the strong hands caressing his
thighs as he washed away the grime of the day. Peter always wished Nalondu
would one day turn around and soap his massive dick face to the door. But
he never did. What mysteries would be revealed if for once he could catch
sight of the heavy black genitals the boys promised to have.
Nalondu, when not in his three quarter length nurse's jacket, was an ebony
boys lover's dream: slim and slightly muscular, Nalondu's chest was well
defined by his sport's shirts but the real attraction was lower down.
Whatever style of shorts, trousers, chinos or jeans he wore there was
always that very obvious bulge at the groin: pants packed with African
meat. Whenever the two had to sit close together at the surgery desk,
thighs and knees just brushing or touching as one or the other moved,
Peter's cock never failed to register the trill, a thrill which always
prompted a downward gaze in the hope of getting a glimpse of the penis line
in the handsome African's package.
Shower over, papers cleared and the surgery locked, doctor and assistant
went their separate ways. Nalondu had over a mile to walk back to his
homestead. Peter Martin had just to cross the dirt yard and allotment which
separated his house from the surgery. The house, like the surgery was a
cement block construction comprising a sitting room, bedroom,
shower-toilet, kitchen and storeroom. Like the surgery, it was supplied
with an erratic electric line and a roof high water tank which ensured at
least a meagre flow to the shower head. The house boy had the daily job of
pumping water up to the reservoirs.
Wamuru, the house boy was in the kitchen stirring a pot of stew. Stew four
days of the week: chicken, beef and mutton. The rhythm never varied. Fish
on alternate days. Stew with rice, stew with yams. From time to time Peter
was able to escape the dreadful monotony of Wamuru's culinary skills when
agency workers and aid experts passed through the area. How enjoyable it
was to meet up with ex-pats in a hotel restaurant or cafe bar. But that was
not too often.
Wamuru was, for all his limitations as a cook, an efficient house boy. The
"boy", for he was in his mid-twenties, was usually dressed in a white,
short sleeved shirt and khaki knee length pants which like those of the
medical assistant, and in fact like most of the men in the area, left both
little and a great deal to the imagination. Wamuru, at about five and a
half feet was as black as could be imagined. The Bantu nose, the thick
sensual lips and the solidness of his buttocks were as exotic as any that
could be painted. Peter Martin was more than once able to detect the line
of a heavy penis held in place by the clothing. Today was an exceptional
display, not only the was the thick African cock thoroughly outlined, but a
large cock head was clearly visible through the thin cotton trousers and
the ridge of a crown that had been certainly sheared of its foreskin in a
traditional circumcision rite.
"Wamuru, you can leave the meal warming for a while. Do bring me a bottle
of Tusker and a plate of salt biscuits." Peter went and stretched himself
on the lumpy sofa in the main room. The boy brought in the bottle of cool
beer, a glass and the biscuits on a try with all the style of a hotel
waiter and placed them down in front of Peter, affording the doctor several
variations on the view of the thick crotch as the boy went about the
business of serving his boss. The cock definitely had a beautiful form,
hidden inside the khaki pants.
Whilst Peter quenched his thirst with the beer, the boy went off to take
his shower in the primitive bathroom: an old fashioned aluminium shower
head atop of a cast iron pipe with some four slight inclines in the floor
meeting at the drain hole. There was not enough pressure in the water to
warrant a shower curtain in the place. A off white toilet bowl and a single
cold water tap sink completed the fixtures.
Peter, still sweltering in the heat, even though the sun was about to go
down, stripped off his polo and chinos, letting the breeze from the slowly
turning fan cool his body as he sipped the Tusker. Picturing the sturdy
black body of Wamuru glistening with water in the shower, he idly rubbed
cock and balls through the thin cotton of his boxer shorts. His cock began
to rise and he felt the mushroom head rub against his boxers as it pushed
its way out of the foreskin. Slipping his fingers through the fly of the
boxers Peter began to slowly wank the sweaty foreskin up and down. He
pulled it back to the edge of the helmet, up over and back again down the
shaft, released the taught skin and let it slide back up to the edge of the
crown. Grasping the shaft in his fist he pumped his cock with a steady
rhythm rubbing the slippery glans with his broad thumb, his mind overcome
with desire to have his ass filled by Wamuru's thick black cock.
Slowing down and letting go of his stiff sick, Peter took another mouthful
of the cool Tusker and idly rubbed at his tits as he continued to drink.
Feeling the need for piss he got up and ambled to the bathroom. Presumably
Wamuru would be face to the wall and he could relieve himself without
offending or embarrassing the boy. The door was open and to his great
surprise Peter saw Wamuru facing him soaping his genitals in the light
coming through the doorway. The long thick circumcised cock was a black as
the rest of the boy's body and the scrotum a massive sack of balls hanging
languidly behind the turgid organ.
"Need to do something Wamuru, please forgive the intrusion." Peter away
turned to the bowl, got out his penis still thickened from the unfinished
wank, skinned back the foreskin and began to urinate, enjoying the relief
as the pressure on his bladder diminished. Finished, he slowly milked his
dick drawing the foreskin up and down wishing Wamuru to do the job for
him. In a moment of erotic frenzy he stopped, leaned down to take off the
boxers and stepped under the trickle of water at the side of his houseboy.
"Hottest day so far. Hope you don't mind if I join you", as if the African
could object. What servant could complain about the behaviour of his boss?
Peter stood still, with his back to the houseboy, as the cool water ran
over his head and down his pale body. Sunbathing had not been one of his
priorities and his skin was a pinkish as it had been the day he left
England, apart from a slight tan on his face, neck and lower arms. The
contrast with the blackness of Wamuru could not have been greater. Back to
back, their arms and buttocks touched and brushed against one another
bringing Peter once more to the start of erection.
Wamuru turned around at the same moment as Peter, both now trying to get
the maximum benefit from the thin spray of water. Both looked down to groin
level anxious to see the other's equipment. Pete had now seen plenty of
black dicks in the course of his professional duties but for Wamuru this
was a totally new experience.
He stared down at his master's boy cock. To Wamuru, despite it being a full
five inches hanging down, it was a boy cock, covered in foreskin. Did these
white men have no shame? How could it be that an important man like his
boss had not been made into a man. He thought with pride about the day he
had stood in front of the circumciser who, with bony fingers had pulled his
foreskin tightly forwards and sliced it off with a sharp iron knife.
"Doctor Sir, your manhood" the houseboy exclaimed. "I have never seen a
such a thing."
Peter reached over, took the houseboy's hand and placed it on his cock,
guiding it up and down to wank the foreskin backwards and forwards over the
helmet. Happy that the boy was getting into his own rhythm and seemingly
enjoying his new occupation, Peter reached downwards and took the black
circumcised dick and began to massage it, his hand just about able to grasp
around the thick shaft. He held it tightly, teasing the place where once
the cock string had been, rubbing the triangle of the black helmet with his
thumb. Peter worked his fist up and down the nine inch shaft as the helmet
swelled blue black into an enormous plum. How he wanted that fruit in his
mouth.
The white man, still wanking the black tube of flesh dropped to his knees
in front of his servant and caressed the plum with his lips, digging his
tongue into the wide, deep piss slit ready to suck out the African's man
juice. Spreading his lips and opening his jaws Peter gradually took the
massive black helmet into his mouth, sucking it with the eagerness of child
who had been given a succulent fruit. For a moment he let the cock head
out of his mouth while he explored the shaft with his tongue. Wamuru had
been radically circumcised and an uneven scar almost halfway down his dick
marked the point where his outer penis skin met the inner skin left exposed
by the circumcision. From the base to the scar the cock shaft was as coal
black and smooth as the rest of the boy's body. Peter licked and teased
with his tongue the slightly lumpy area of skin left by the cut, licking
his tongue around the thick beer can shaft. His tongue travelled up above
the
circumcision line towards the helmet, savouring the new texture of the
skin. Here the skin was a dark coffee colour, lighter than the lower part
of the cock. Peter teased this more sensitive skin with his pale lips
before sucking on it from the sides, above and below as if it were a stick
of toffee.
Once more he took the steel hard cock into his mouth, slowly but surely
widening his jaws until he had at least a third of the thick penis in his
mouth, filling him to the limit. Up and down he sucked. Wamuru grabbed the
white man's head and began the push and pull Peter over his cock, gradually
forcing more and more of it into the already full mouth. This was beginning
to be painful for the young doctor: the thick black penis was more than he
had ever taken, even from the most well endowed of his several boyfriends.
He reached up and began to take Wamuru's hands in his own bringing them
down, slowly working his way off the cock until his mouth was emptied.
The blue black helmet was throbbing to his touch as he massaged the drops
of precum that were oozing from the piss slit. Having anointed the crown
with its own juices, Peter, still holding on to the cock turned around and
raised his white arse to it, guiding the cock head to the cleft of his
buttocks. Wamuru grasped his master around the waist and began to manoeuvre
his stiff cock into the cleft, pushing the cheeks apart until his reached
the white man's hole. Slowly but firmly he pushed against the quivering ass
and broke the seal. Peter groaned as the massive helmet pierced his ass
hole and began to work its way in. He was conscious of every millimetre as
the plum shaped glans forced its way into his ass until the moment when the
pressure on his ass lips was reduced as they slipped over the thick ridge
of the helmet.
Wamuru held still for a moment, letting the doctor feel the pleasure of
this great lump of hard flesh just inside his arse hole. Then suddenly,
Wamuru began to push forward, in an inch and back again, in two inches and
back again. Peter felt every penetration stretch his bowels as the thick
black cock drove further into him. As Wamuru began to glide in and out
against the doctor's prostate gland Peter started to groan with both
pleasure and pain as the enormous cock ploughed further into him. Wamuru
would not give up until the whole of his thick nine inches were into the
doctor who feared that he would be split apart by the massive cock.
Peter felt the heat of Wamuru's chest against his back and when the house
boy held him tightly with his cock fully in the doctor's ass chute, he
breathed deeply savouring the fullness of the African's cock buried deep
inside him. Both were by now standing fully upright but now Wamuru began to
push Peter forward towards the wall of the shower causing the doctor to
spread his legs and raise his arse for the main event.
Pulling his cock out almost to the helmet Wamuru began to piston drive the
white arse. There was no gentleness this time. With his hands holding Peter
firmly in place he drove his cock in and out until the white man screamed
for relief. The house boy responded by quickening his pace, ploughing his
cock in up to the hilt, slapping the white buttocks with his hairless black
groin. The more the doctor yelled the harder Wamuru pumped, now withdrawing
his cock from the pale arse and then violently slamming his engorged helmet
through the tight ass hole to pump again. Fantasy turned to nightmare as
Peter felt himself being ripped apart by Wamuru's. Pleasure had turned to
torture as the horribly thick black cock pierced his insides.
At last Wamuru began to slow down. Keeping a tight grip on Peter's hips,
Wamuru's cock ploughed up and down Peter's ass chute, never pulling out
completely but teasing the tight ass hole with just a partial withdrawing
of the helmet which somehow pleasured Peter as he felt the ridge of the
helmet slip past his hole. It compensated for the pain he felt in his
bowels.
Peter's scream's turned to low groans now as he felt his house boy's cock
begin to throb inside his ass. Wamuru quickened then slowed, quickened and
slowed his pumping into the white arse and began to groan himself as he
shot his load into his master. Never fully withdrawing his cock he slowly
drove in and out as his balls emptied themselves into the doctor's
asshole. For what seemed like an eternity he continued to plough Peter's
arse, reducing his strokes as his cock emptied and began to soften inside
the white man. Only then did he release his grip and in a show of
tenderness wrap his arms around Peter, lifting him upright whilst at last
pulling himself out of his master's arse. Peter turned himself round,
pressing his body against his servant to feel the heavy black cock close to
his groin and thighs as it dripped the last of its African juice. Peter
held on to Wamuru, almost wanting to cry on the boy's shoulder both in
relief at being delivered from his ordeal and in thankfulness for the
painful pleasures he had been submitted to.
His own cock was quite deflated. Sore and exhausted by his initiation into
African man sex Peter felt that retreat to his bed was the better option at
the moment and that his own pleasure would come later....
Later that night the doctor lay under his mosquito net with only the light
of the moon shining through the thin curtains of his room. Naked, once
again relaxed and very definitely aroused he began to wank his foreskin up
and down remembering the agony and the delight he had been through. Leaving
his cock upstanding he began to pinch hard at his nipples, digging his
thumb and finger nails into the soft flesh, deliberately causing himself
pain before gently massaging the aureoles and tits. Pulling his foreskin up
and down, digging a thumb nail into the piss slit he recreated every
sensation of pain and pleasure. Alternate moments of tit torture and
wanking, and eventually the two together. Peter's right hand furiously drew
and withdrew the foreskin whilst his left pinched his right nipple and
bringing him to shuddering climax, his creamy man juice shooting up towards
his navel. He continued to pull the foreskin up and down, letting the cream
lubricate his helmet and skin until his cock head was a greasy pleasure
down, covered with his velvet like foreskin. With the disregard of a uncut
teenager, he lay back and let the juices mature in his cock and dry out on
his groin and slowly drifted off to sleep, wondering what the comings days
might bring as a sequel to his first foray into the world of African
sex.......
As hot humid days turned to cool ones and the grass began to dry up in the
valley Peter felt more at ease and comfortable in the climate of Africa
which had until now exhausted him on a daily basis. A few weeks into the
dry season Nalondu announced to Dr. Martin that within the week they would
be getting some extra patients.
"It is our initiation time. Every two years, when the rains have finished
boys have to be cut. Their fathers and uncles decide on the year and the
day."
Nalondu went on to explain that for the most part the boys, who could be
between fourteen and eighteen years old, were circumcised in the villages,
standing before the circumciser in their house compound with the male
members of the family as spectators. Dr. Martin shivered at the idea.
Nalondu continued saying that this was the greatest moment in a boy's
teenage years and that bravery, ie no fainting, crying or screaming would
be remembered by all present as the marks of his being a real man. The
medical assistant added that he himself was a circumciser, like his father
and grandfather before him, though he always used sterilised instruments
and medical supplies for dressing the wound, even if the boys and their
families refused the painkilling injection. Nalondu explained that some
families, for the sake of health and hygiene, were beginning to bring their
boys to the surgery for the cut, though that invariably they would still
refuse to have painkillers. For the sake of tradition and the appearance of
the circumcision Nalondu explained that the simplest method was used:
stretch out the foreskin, clamp it in forceps and slice, letting the
remaining skin slip back down the shaft. Only in rare cases would it be
necessary to scissor into the skin, cutting it longwise and then around the
shaft.
Dr. Martin wondered what agonies they must go through and found it hard to
imagine himself having to perform surgery in such conditions. In any case,
circumcision had warranted no more than a footnote in medical school, the
operation having long gone out of fashion in England. During his houseman
days, Peter Martin had observed no more than a handful of cases, where
circumcision had been performed on young men with severe cases of phimosis.
Sure enough three days later a teenager appeared at the door of the surgery
accompanied by two older youths and a grown man.
"It is Kalonjo, come for the cut" Nalondu informed Dr. Martin. The boy was
dressed in only sports shirt and loose cut off pants, which he proceeded to
drop as he presented himself at Dr. Martin's desk. The youth had a
typically long and thick five inch flaccid penis with a long and thick tube
of foreskin hanging well beyond the glans, tapering to a slightly wrinkled
spout. The glans was however, well defined under the rubbery foreskin, the
edge of the crown clearly outlined. Peter Martin took the heavy flaccid
penis in his hand and withdrew the foreskin revealing the dark glans.
Retracting the skin far down the shaft he satisfied himself that there were
no abnormalities before pulling the long prepuce back over the large glans.
"Please go over to the table and lay down. Nalondo will prepare you for
the surgery. I presume you will take an anesthetic injection to stop the
pain?" began Dr.Martin.
The elder man present with Kalonjo interrupted, "You must stand here and
face the knife as a man". Continuing "Doctor, he must not lay down, he must
stand before the knife which you will hold. He will show his courage and
have no white man's injections. Such a thing would be shameful to us."
Nalondu brought over a small bowl of tepid water, cloudy with drops of
Dettol, placed it on the doctor's desk and reached over to pull back
Kolonjo's foreskin cleaning it, inside and out. The boy stood passively as
the medical assistant prepared him for the surgery and stood rigid when the
medical assistant gripped the end of the foreskin and pulled it as far
forward as possible, stretching it for what seemed to the Doctor an
impossible length. Nalondu picked a pair of stout forceps and locked them
onto the foreskin just ahead of the glans.
"Stand and wait" instructed Nalondu as he let the penis fall from his
hands. Dr. Martin looked on, his heart beating, at the strange sight of the
pendulous penis hanging and weighted by the forceps. Nalondu went over to
the instrument counter and returned with a scalpel which he handed to the
doctor. "It is good. You should cut now" he instructed, speaking as the one
who seemed to have taken charge of the event.
Still seated, Dr. Martin reached out with his left hand and gingerly
grasped the fleshly tube of skin at the end of the penis. He pulled it
toward him stretching it taut in front of the scalpel. Positioning the
knife against the outer edges of the scalpel he sliced the skin off in one
go, Kalonjo remaining rigid and stiff, as the two friends and older man
smiled as congratulated the boy on his bravery. Opening the forceps,
Dr. Martin watched as the remaining skin slipped quickly, of its own
accord, back over the dark glans and down the shaft becoming pink and
bloody as it did so.
Blood oozed form the wound and dripped onto the cement floor as the
circumcised penis hung limply in front of Kalonjo's still rigid body. The
youth was now a man, and having silently and motionlessly undergone the cut
would be feted by his sponsors and family as a full member of the clan.
"What do we do next?" wondered Dr. Martin, who felt as if he had been
caught up in a surrealist film. After what seemed like too long a time, as
the blood continued to drip, Nalondu, who to all intents and purposes had
taken the role of master of ceremonies, instructed the youth stay still and
proceed to stretch the wound even further down the shaft of the bloodied
penis sprinkling antiseptic powder over the raw flesh. Kalonjo still stood
rigid as what must have been an excruciating procedure took place.
Releasing the penis from his hand, Nalondu watched the bleeding skin
retract a little before shaking the powder tin once more and quickly
wrapping and tying a loose gauze bandage around the shaft.
Kalonjo's penis now looked respectable: a compromise between the
traditional and the modern. The thick black shaft was still visible at the
base. The white gauze around its middle portion denoted a concession to
hygiene. Above the bandage, coffee coloured skin, which would surely
darken as the months went by. Hanging heavy and proud was the now exposed
glans, dark and proud, exposed forever, shorn of its youthful foreskin.
Prompted by his uncle, Kalonjo moved for the first time, stooping to pull
up his pants. Dr. Martin handed to him a small box. "You must take three of
these tablets every day for the next week. They are antibiotics and will
help to stop you getting any infection in your wound. Do not forget to take
them. You must also come back in three days for Nalondu to change the
dressing and check that the wound is healing properly." Kalonjo was now
standing with his older teenage sponsors supporting him at the shoulders
and arms as they turned to leave the surgery.
They were stopped in their tracks by the old uncle. "The foreskin must be
given". Turning to Nalondu he spoke in the local language which Dr. Martin
was still struggling to understand. Nalondu went over to the instrument
table and brought back a kidney dish in which was laying the excised piece
of black flesh, somewhat shrivelled and wrinkled. Picking it out he
presented it to the man who pulled it by both ends to see just how much had
so recently covered his nephew's penis. Holding it in front of the youth he
pronounced "Tonight you will bury the skin of your childhood beneath the
mango tree and offer a goat to your ancestors. Tomorrow we shall feast."
Dr. Martin listened in amazement, wondering what other rituals might be
demanded of the boy. He had read enough anthropology to know that the
circumcision was but one of many aspects of initiation and he prayed that
whatever had to be done would not compromise Kalonjo's recovery, from what
after all was a primitive piece of surgery. Wrapping the piece of foreskin
in a leaf which he pulled from his pocket, Kalonjo's uncle thanked
Dr. Martin and Nalodnu for their work and turned to leave. His nephew
followed walking steadily but slowly, supported by his sponsors....
Peter Martin leaned back in his chair and thought about what the next few
weeks might bring. That night he brought himself to cum twice imagining
that he could suck on those long African foreskins before having to slice
them away. By the end of the month Dr. Martin and Nalondu had circumcised
over twenty youths. After the first couple of cuts, it was Dr. Martin
himself who carefully determined the pull and stretch of the foreskin,
locking the forceps onto the black tubes of flesh, under the watchful eyes
of his handsome medical assistant. Only four boys had accepted the offer of
local anesthetic, one of them after some persuasion when Dr. Martin
realised that his long tight foreskin would have to be scissored and
sectioned using a more complicated procedure. Without exception the boys
had appeared for post op check ups and appeared to be healing nicely,
wounds scarring slowly and evenly. Nalondu's antiseptic powder and
antibiotics obviously being more effective than the powdered wood charcoal
that the traditional circumcisers favoured.
As the initiation season drew to a close and no more young men presented
themselves Dr. Peter Martin had reason to be pleased with his new found
surgical skills but was wanking himself to sleep night after night to
mental images of African boy sex, pendulous foreskin covered black penises
and the thought of being penetrated by what he imagined to be Nalondu's
magnificent piece of meat..........
A day's work finished, a week later, Dr. Martin tidied his desk and covered
the examination couch with a fresh white sheet, checked the contents of the
surgical instrument box and took out two small ampoules from the dispensary
fridge. Nalondu was tidying up the medicine cupboard when the doctor called
him over.
"Nalondu, my friend. Today you must do me a great service. I want you to
use your skill to make me a man like you and your people."
The medical assistant stared at the doctor, a look of incomprehension on
his face. "Doctor Sir, what do you mean?"
" You should know Nalondu, that where I come from men and boys are not
normally circumcised. We only perform the operation in cases of medical
necessity and sometimes for religious reasons. Me, I am uncircumcised but I
have always admired the neatness of the circumcised penis. Many times I
have thought of arranging a private consultation for myself. Having watched
you turn boys into men gives me confidence that you can do for me what I
want for myself. In fact, I think you would do better than many a surgeon
back home."
"Doctor, you honour me. If you are certain that you wish to go through with
this I will gladly help you. It is good that our people did not know this
thing for they would think it shameful for an uncut man to circumcise their
boys."
Peter Martin began to undress and stretched himself out in the examination
couch. Nalondu stared at the pale white body. The penis was certainly small
compared to his own, no more than four inches long, the glans hidden inside
a foreskin which ended in a short stubby spout just a fraction beyond the
organ. The doctor's pubic hair was clipped short and his scrotum cleanly
shaved.
Nalondu prepped the whole area, fascinated and repelled by the adult
foreskin which he pulled backwards and forwards determining how much to
cut. At Dr. Martin's request he injected the two ampoules of lidocaine into
the base of the penis. Before the anesthetic had fully taken hold he firmly
grasped the end of the foreskin and pulled it far forwards clamping it in
the steel forceps. Peter Martin gasped at the cold blades gripped his
sensitive skin tight in their lock.
"Nalondu. You must wait for a moment. There is still feeling in my penis. I
don't think that I want to come to manhood as have our young men this
month! Why don't you palpitate my penis and work the lidocaine up the
shaft?"
Peter Martin, lay motionless as the long black fingers massage his penis
which slowly but suely began to lose all feeling. "It think you can procede
now Nalondu, it's out cold".
Nalondu lifted the white penis pulling it upwards by the trapped
foreskin. A sharp pain seared Dr. Martin's groin as Nalondu sliced off the
skin with one sweep of the surgical blade. The tight forceps had obviously
blocked the passage of the lidocaine to the end of the foreskin. Drops of
perspiration bubbled on Peter Martin's forehead as he gasped and breathed
deeply, willing himself not to groan at the unaccustomed pain. The torture
seemed to intensify when Nalondu released the forceps. Peter watched in
agony and amazement as the remains of his skin slipped back down over his
glans. Nalondu delicately swabbed the bleeding flesh as it came to rest mid
way down the shaft. The pain subsided for a moment as the penis lay inert
and lifeless between Peter's legs. The lidocaine seemed now to be having
its effect. Peter closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relieved and content
that the cause of his shame in the eyes of Wamuru had been removed. Nalondu
took the doctor's hand and held it tightly whispering words of
encouragement and congratulation on his new status. "You are now one of us"
Bandaged, dressed and slightly trembling Dr. Peter Martin gingerly walked
back to his home across the yard, supported by Nalondu who kept his arm
around the doctor's shoulders until they reached the small sitting room of
the little house. Nalondu called for Wamuru and in words which Peter did
not understand explained the doctor's new status and gave orders for the
houseboy to pay attention to in the coming days.................
A MONTH LATER
On a Saturday evening after a long and tiring week in the surgery Peter
Martin was enjoying a cold glass of Tusker beer, leafing through a bundle
of magazines which the postal service had recently delivered. Why he should
get four or five weekly publications all at once he had never worked
out. He stretched out his legs parting them wide, very conscious of his
newly healed circumcised dick nestling in the cotton pants. The first ten
days had been not too bad, just a dull ache from time to time and the
occasional stab of pain when erections threatened. The scabs from the wound
were gone within another week and now he was enjoying a painless stiffness
whenever his cock decided to rise. Another few days and perhaps he would
relieve himself with a much needed wank.
Peter was catching up on the news of football, theatre and cinema in London
when there was a loud knock at the door of the house. He rarely had
visitors and wondered who it could be calling after sundown. Opening the
door he was pleasantly surprised to see his medical assistant, Nalondu,
carrying what appeared to be a large bottle in a plastic bag, accompanied
by a younger man, no less dark and handsome.
"Do come in. What an unexpected delight. You are most welcome." Dr. Martin
exclaimed as he ushered his guests into the room. Pointing to the small
sofa he gestured to Nalondu to sit with him having pulled up a stool for
the younger man.
"This is my cousin, Kalenga" Nalondu announced, "I have circumcised him two
years ago. He has come with me to celebrate your status as a man. I know
you are man in England but here your foreskin would have made you a boy to
our people, even if you are good doctor." Nalondu smiled and laughed as he
made his little speech. Reaching for the bottle of liquor he asked the
doctor if glasses or cups were available. "We drink to your manhood,
Dr. Martin. You have braved the knife and shown yourself to be a man."
During a couple of drinks each and some rather revealing conversation about
local sexual practices Nalondu and Kalenga began to stroke at their groins
and evidence of stiff African manhood was soon to be seen as their cotton
trousers bulged before the doctor's eyes. Relaxed and uninhibited by the
strong drink Peter himself began to rub at his cock and balls through the
soft cotton of the shorts he was wearing. Kalenga reached up from his
stool, lifted the doctors hand away and began to stroke at the white man's
groin, his large black hands cupping balls and shaft. Peter leaned down and
reciprocated, remembering the adventure he had had with Wamuru hardly two
months ago.
Nalondu sipped at his whisky watching his cousin and boss as they began to
slide hands into pant legs and then down through waistbands, clutching at
each other's genitals. It was Kalenga who took the initiative, lowering
Peter's shorts, dropping to his knees and taking the freshly circumcised
cock into his mouth. The pale cock was still slightly red around the cut
line but the dick stood proudly with a deep purple mushroom cockhead
surmounting it. It was a work of art, as if Nalondu had carefully carved
away the flesh beneath the ridge.
Kalenga licked and sucked in every possible place, tickling the piss slit
with his tongue, sucking the cockhead like a hard boiled sweet, taking the
cock all the way into his mouth slathering it with his saliva and finally
letting Peter piston himself in and out of the mouth letting the black lips
of the boy caress his cock as it had never been treated before.
For a moment, Kalenga released Peter's cock from his mouth, stood up and
quickly ripped off his cotton pants and underwear. His own cock was
rampant, like Wamuru's nine thick inches of solid black flesh, with just a
delicate change of colour half way up the shaft, evidence of his own
circumcision. Wamuru took Peter's hand and placed it on the black column of
flesh whilst taking Peter's rather smaller organ in his own. White on
black, black on white they pumped each other's cocks following the quick
rhythm which Kalenga set. Peter, afraid that after a month of sexual
abstinence, felt that he was danger of coming there and then and began to
loosen his grip on the blacks man's penis and placed his left hand on
Kalenga's to slow down the wank the black man was giving him.
Almost instinctively the two men positioned themselves. Peter stretched
back on the sofa, his legs wide apart, cock upright and proud. Kalenga
stood with his back to Peter fingering his arsehole as he lowered himself
onto the circumcised white cock. Peter grasped Kalenga around the waist and
pulled him towards the throbbing cockhead. With one hand on Kalenga's hips,
Peter took his cock and pushed his helmet against the slippery lips of the
black pink asshole. Kalenga groaned as the cockhead pierced his ass and
slid up his chute. With the agility of an athlete Kalenga began to rise and
fall on the white cock as it throbbed and stiffened even more inside his
bowels.
Kalenga remembered the night when he had sunk himself into Nalondu's tight
arse one month after his cousin had circumcised him, two years ago. He
bounced up and down on the white man's circumcised cock intent on bringing
him to the fabulous climax which he knew to be the reward of the knife and
a month of sexual seclusion.
Neither Kalenga or Peter were to be disappointed. The arse muscles clamped
around Peter's cock, the lips on the arsehole squeezed at his cockhead as
he almost withdrew before being pulled back into the black hole and before
not too long he felt the insistent throb in his groin which announced
release. Peter groaned as he pumped out his man juice into the black man's
tight chute. Kalenga feeling the release of liquid into his arse slowed
down his rhythm, savouring the delicious moments as the white cock inside
him throbbed, spurted and began to relax itself.
..............
Drinks followed drinks and before long the bottle was empty. All that
remained was for Peter to take Nalondu by the arms and begin the ritual
that would complete his initiation: that his circumciser should penetrate
the newly circumcised.
The End.
If you enjoyed this story of African initiation, let me know. I might be
encouraged to write another. Ideas and scenarios always welcome. Jeremy